


Heartbreak Summer

by cherry_throat



Category: EXO (Band), K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Cheating, M/M, Not really a story yet, Song Inspo, WIP, West Coast, also gonna change it to explicit later, california aesthetic, exo stans dont kill me, its all taehyungs fault, jimin breaks his wrist, will tag with further chapters, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 16:15:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14216931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherry_throat/pseuds/cherry_throat
Summary: "while everybody's surfing, baby i've been hurting"Jimin is kicked out of the house and makes his way to Cali on a whim to see his boyfriend.Who's going to catch him when he falls? No like literally.





	Heartbreak Summer

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is inspired by Heartbreak Summer by KFlay:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s65h3jt6lrs
> 
> SO this is based in like a small cali beach town.  
> but im from east coast so idk anything abt west coast!  
> srry. ill try my best!

* * *

Jimin can barely remember how he got here.  
  
  


The sun is just hardly disappearing over the horizon and everything's glowing in a tangerine hue, casting long dark shadows on the sandy pavement.

It had been hotter where the bus dropped him off--farther from the beach.

But as he walked down the narrow two-lane, residential street, the louder the distant crashing of the water became, and the more he could feel the cool breeze that ran off the ocean. 

He can see the sea from the street, like hills of gray-blue against the orange of the horizon and it's beautiful. But he can sightsee later.

Face down in his hand where he had scribbled the directions to his destination, he can feel the fatigue of the past few days settle in his heels. But the promise of a familiar face drives him.  


* * *

 

Between his fingers, he holds a worn, creased postcard:

**_"i'll always be here for you, jiminnie._ **

❤ ** _hyung"_**

There's a pile of black garbage bags on the street in front of the house. One ripped open to bare what looks like an assortment of cheap beer, brown and green bottles tipping out onto the narrow street.  
  


The plane trip was hell:

The stewardess gave him broken headphones.   
All the children decided to collectively start crying at once.   
Some guy in the seat across from him started hyperventilating from aviophobia stress.

But, his saving grace--the old lady next to him, supplied him endlessly with a stock of tissues.

Jimin had been crying nonstop of course. His brother used to always tease him when they were younger because, once Jimin started crying, " _getting him to stop is like trying to stop an ice cube from melting._ "

 

He was 39,000 feet in the air and all he could think about was the last thing his father had said to him.  


After Jimin got off the plane, the bus trip was a blur.

" _You disgust me."_

He mostly dozed off, skull banging irritatingly against the window.

" _Abnormal."_

His ass is sore from the shitty purple bus seats, legs sticking to the tacky vinyl.

" _Makes me sick._ "

 

 

He looks at the return address on the postcard once more and then back to the mailbox.

Shifting his backpack to the other shoulder, he walks up the steps toward the white door of the old rental beach house.

No doorbell.   
He rubs his eyes once before rapping his knuckles against the worn paint of the door.   


He waits a minute. The sky is getting darker.

Nothing.

He cracks his knuckles and knocks again.

 

The door swings open. The house inside is dark and a man stands in the doorway.

Jimin had not been expecting to meet an actual giraffe, so he's staring directly at the boy's chest and he has to peer up to meet the stranger's eyes--sleepy eyes, in fact. Something by the way he yawns and rubs his neck tells Jimin he may have just woken him.  


"'Sup," he rasps, voice deep and weary.

"Uh," Jimin stuffs his hands and the postcard in his pockets to avoid wringing them, "Do you know if Jongin is here? Kim Jongin? I've been trying to call him. It's kind of an emergency."

The man leans against the archway, stretching his arms above his head a little.

"Yeah, he's in here. Come in."

The man waves him inside and disappears into the darkness of the house. Jimin takes a step inside a dim, medium-sized living room.

"I'm Chanyeol," the man says turning on a nearby lamp.  


The rosewood floors and beige walls are illuminated along with a brown, wool couch smothered with blankets. A decently sized landscape portrait of the beach hangs above the couch (as if they can't walk ten feet to see the water). A basic television set and what looks like an Xbox line the walls across from Jimin. 

 

The tall man 

"And," he says slouching back onto the couch,"I'm going back to sleep. Jongin's down the hall first door to the right," he says with fatigue, closing his eyes.  


Jimin utters a  _'thanks'_ before following the boy's--Chanyeol's--instructions. The hardwood turns to cream-colored shag carpeting as he walks into the hallway.   
The first door to the right--Jongin's door, is closed.  


God, it's been too long since Jimin has seen him.   
Jimin hadn't even gotten confirmation from Jongin that he could visit.  
  
_What if he's angry?_

But his phone was smashed and he kept trying Jongin's cell from the payphones at the airport. Plus, just a week ago over the phone, purring in his charming voice, Jongin had specifically said, "you can always come and visit,"  
Jimin shakes his head, knowing that Jongin will be happy to see him--announced or not.

He taps on the door, softly calling Jongin's name.  


There's a little bit of shuffling behind the door before it finally opens and he sees the person he's been wishing for days.  


"What do you  _want_ Chanyeol, I'm busy."  


Dark hair messy, Jongin stands a few inches above Jimin's height (though he might never admit it to his face) in only his boxers and that blue tee all wrinkled.  


But... somethings  _wrong_. 

Because Jongin's wearing this terrible look on his face; his eyes horrified and shocked.   
And it's making Jimin a little uncomfortable because he always looks so pulled together--even at his worst.  


"Hyung, listen. I couldn't get a hold of you. And they kicked me out and he broke my phone and I had nowhere to go and--" Jimin rambles, arms flailing around and mouth moving at 70 mph before Jongin speaks up, cutting off Jimin's flood of words.

"What--what are you doing here, Jimin?"  


Jimin's eyebrows wind together and he feels smaller than begin squished into that window seat on the plane.   
Plus, Jongin  _always always always_  calls him "Jiminie".

He can feel his throat drying up--like--like a hair blower to back of his tongue and he shuffles his feet against the carpet.   


"I...I just told you. I had nowhere to go. I don't know what to do."  
  


There's another rustling movement behind Jongin. 

Jimin can feel the heat of his body flee him and rise to his face.

He doesn't want to. He doesn't want to see who's in Jongin's room.  _Don't look in his room._

But Jimin is a master of self-destruction. So he leans to his left to view the room Jongin is blocking.   


A floor littered with too much dirty laundry.   
A wall with too many SNSD posters.   
A bed with too little blankets. 

And someone sitting on the mattress.  
Someone... sitting on the mattress?

He doesn't get a good look at her.   
Doesn't really  _want_ to get a good look at her.

But from the cursory glance, she's not wearing much. A bra and a cheeky, flashy thong and she's inspecting her own nails.   


He feels everything all at once like a 50lb weight on his chest threatening to crush him.   
His stomach turns, the complimentary airline peanuts close to making their way back up his throat. His nose and eyes sting and he tries to restrain his tears.

He looks at Jongin, wide-eyed and already crying.

"Hyung?" He feels like he's at the edge of a cliff--ready to thrust himself into a free fall, "Who is that? Who is she?"

His voice is cracking like glass and he's about to shatter when Jongin looks at him, speechless.

He's turning on his heel and dragging himself down the hallway.  
And maybe Jongin is calling his name but he can't hear anything over the snoring boy-- Chanyeol(?) that he passes before locating the front door. Eyes blurring, he launches the front door open a little too hard and the knob hits the wall probably chipping or denting something.  
But he can't bring himself to care at the moment.

His mind is flooding and he's just walking. Away from the house. Away from Jongin. Across the street.

He feels anger in his bones.   
And sorrow in his muscles.   
And jealousy in his skin.   
And disappointment in his blood.

Oh damn, his brain is in such state that his vision is going wonky or something.

Nope, he's actually just falling.  
  
Everything's sideways and he hits the pavement-- _hard_.  
  
All the air in his lungs is gone in a millisecond and his arm hits the ground crooked and he can  _feel_  the crack.  
  
Or maybe even  _hear_ it. His whole body pulses for a moment or two and then the pain focuses in his wrist.

Already previously crying, tears leak from his face even more and he holds his wrist in his other hand. By the curb of the sidewalk, he sees a skateboard rolling idly away _._

_Who leaves a skateboard in the middle of the road??_

He also sees someone walking toward him.

Someone's talking to him. Maybe it's Jongin? Maybe it's all a misunderstanding? Maybe that girl was a figment of Jimin's imagination?

But it's not Jongin. It's a stranger, looking down at Jimin with worry sketched on his face.

The stranger kneels down next to Jimin, eyebrows furrowed and button nose scrunched a little in apprehension.   


"Are you okay?"  
  


* * *

 

 

 

The sun is low in the sky, a cooler wind traveling from the west.

Namjoon had been lounging on the porch steps, redwood chipped and a little splintery, following a long day at the diner.

Worn sandals on his toes and cigarette wedged between two fingers, the smoke is heavy on his tongue and he gags a little at the taste. 

He'd only taken approximately two and a half drags before the thing hits filter, crumpling into grainy ash. Smoking really isn't his thing but it's a nice occupation for his hands.

He was just about to get up and retreat inside to take a shower--a pleasant  _cold_  shower since the AC is on the fritz. (the big metal box is almost as unreliable as Yoongi is with plans.)

When across the street, the white door of the adjacent rental whips open, his eyes dart up. Namjoon expects to see Chanyeol or Junmyeon or Jongdae, his neighbors, emerging from the house and he prepares a wave of the hand and a curt smile. Maybe even a "hello" if time permits him.

But it's not anyone he's familiar with. Someone smaller like Baekhyun, but built like Hoseok.

He's close to disregarding the boy leaving the other house because Namjoon is good at minding his own business.

But that's before he notices that the boy is crying.   
Weeping a little, actually.   
He's stepping down the front steps and onto the sidewalk.

And that's when Namjoon sees it: Taehyung's skateboard is directly in the center of the road. And the boy is headed directly for it, a sleeve of his thin white hoodie pressed against his eyes.

Before Namjoon can do anything, however, the boy steps on the board. The wheels jerk forward under his sneaker. The skateboard goes flying and so does the kid.

Namjoon winces when the kid loses his balance and tumbles backward, shooting up from the porch when the boy collides with the ground.

Shuffles down the steps of his porch, he trots across the street over to the boy, now a little crumpled on the asphalt, trembling and indeed crying harder than when he exited the neighbor's house.

He's clutching his wrist and Namjoon crosses the street toward him.  


"Are you okay?" Namjoon asks easily, squatting down beside him.  


The boy is weeping, quick breaths and taught sniffles as he cradles his wrist against his chest.

Namjoon studies his face.  
  
He's a smaller boy. Somewhat puffy cheeks and puffier lips. His eyes dip into long lashes and his black hair is a little shaggy in his face. Eyes are red and glassy and brimming with salty tears.

Namjoon studies his arm. 

"Oh man. That might be broken," Namjoon offers softly, "Can you move it?"

The boy blinks a few times at Namjoon, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes and lashes and then ducks his head to dab his eyes on his shoulder before extending his arm to examine it. Namjoon cringes inwardly. It looks remarkably swollen and red already. It's inflating like a balloon. A very red balloon. The kind that you get at a carnival.  


"Ah, that... That really hurts," the boy laments, "Who leaves their skateboard in the middle of the road?"

Namjoon bites at this lip and scratches the back of his neck, "That would be my housemate. He's a little... careless at times,"  
  


Though cheeks still tear-streaked and shiny, the boy's cries seem to dwindle. When he scuffles on the ground, Namjoon quickly straightens up, extending a hand to the boy to help him onto his feet.   


The boy watches Namjoon's hand for a quick moment but seizes it and hoists himself up, flinching in pain.  
  


"Owie," the dark-haired boy whispers to himself and Namjoon has to summon every bone in his body not to laugh because who the fuck says " _owie"_  in the real world?

"Hey, I think it'd be a good idea to get that looked at. I can give you a ride to the Emergency Room if you want."  


The boy glances down at his arm, and Namjoon can almost hear the cogs of his brain whirring with indecision. He glances behind him at the neighbor's house  
.

"Oh, you were across street right?" Namjoon offers, "You know Minseok or Jongin? I can let them know really quick."  


Namjoon starts stepping across the street toward the adjacent house before the boy shoots his good arm in the air, panic and dread striking his face.  


"No!" He nearly shouts, "No. No, that's okay. You don't--dont...tell him."

Namjoon stops walking again, eyebrows raised slightly in confusion. "Oh, uh. Okay. If you say so."

"Uh. Do you think you could give me directions to the hospital? I'm sure I could catch a bus?"

Namjoon widens his eyes and shakes his head, "Oh, no. It's way too far. I can give you a ride. It's really no trouble!"

Namjoon beams at him in reassurance before he nods his head slowly. "Yeah, yeah okay. Thank you very much"  


* * *

 

He finally gets to think once he's settled in the car. 

Jimin's apprehensive about closing the passenger seat door, he doesn't know this person. He doesn't know this area.  
Worst of all. He doesn't know what to do--about Jongin--about everything.

He's cringing and his eyes sting a bit because every movement hurts. The boy in the driver seat seems to notice, throwing worries looks, squinted eyes and pained, sorry smiles.   


"Do you need help with your belt?" the boy asks apologetically from the driver's seat after he switches the ignition.  


Jimin shakes his head vehemently but once he begins to reach for his own seatbelt, he hisses, wrist catching on fire.

The boy winces in time with Jimin's seething. He gestures again and Jimin finally nods his head. The boy leans over the center console and extends an arm over Jimin's chest. He's close to and Jimin notices his button nose and dense lips.

The boy starts the car--truck actually-- and Jimin almost catches an embarrassed set of red cheeks on the boy's face when the engine coughing a bit before turning over.

He's cringing and eyes stinging a bit because every movement hurts. The boy in the driver seat seems to notice, throwing worries looks, squinted eyes and pained, sorry smiles.  


"Shit I have no clue if I can afford an ER trip," Jimin mutters mostly to himself but the other seems to take that as a conversation starter.

"Is there anyone you can call? Maybe your family?"  


Jimin raises his eyebrows and grins to himself. Imagine that:

 _Hey mom, dad. I know you just threw me out for being gay. But I just broke my arm tripping over a skateboard after my boyfriend cheated on me. With a girl._  


"Uh, maybe I can call my brother or something," Jimin says, a little exhausted, "Anyways, thank you so much for the ride."

"Oh, it's really nothing. I'm Namjoon by the way," he says glancing over,"I'd shake your hand but maybe I'll wait until it's more functional."  


That makes Jimin laugh. (Sounds more like a cough but its been a while and it feels good).  


"I'm Jimin," he says.

"Charmed, Jimin," the boy--Namjoon says, smiling and eyes crinkling into squints, "So, you know anyone across the street? Lemme guess--Sehun. He's got a lot of friends"

"Oh...Jongin. Jongin's my--" Jimin goes a little cross, wringing his hands.   


_What's going to happen now? Jongin's the only person I have._

Apparently, Jimin's been thinking too long because Namjoon keeps talking.  


"Oh shit. Is... Jongin --are you together?" He inquires, eyes wide.  


Jimin's mind could reel into  _what if this guy's a homophobe and painfully throws me out of his truck and I have to find the hospital myself_  but he's too tired and too broken to lie and Namjoon seems either hella chill or hella down to murder Jimin and Jimin's totally down with either of those things right now.  


"Um, Im not so sure anymore." And Jimin's not lying.

"'Cause I just saw him go in with some blonde girl like 20 minutes ago..." Namjoon comments carefully. His eyes are glued to the road ahead, winding through streets Jimin's never seen before, houses and buildings unfamiliar. But Jimin can see his hands gripping the wheel a little tightly like he's saying something he shouldn't.  
  


* * *

  


In his side eye, he sees Jimin turn his head toward the window--fast and sharp-- derivative of a wince, like Namjoon's just punched him.

Body craned away, nose to the car window, Namjoon almost thinks he's crying by the way he sees Jimin's shoulders shudder a bit. Namjoon reaches over and turns down the AC in the truck.   
But, wait. Now he  _knows_  Jimin's crying by the way his voice cracks--broken like rigid glass--

"Yep," he says, voice tinged with sad amusement, "Can you put something on the radio?"

Namjoon's stomach drops by the heightening pitch of Jimin's voice and he hasn't even known him for over 15 minutes but he feels so  _bad_  for him. And the way wipes his face makes him want to  _scream_ in Jongin's face.

Namjoon taps a button on the car radio. It's a few seconds before the speakers release the music. It's one of Jeongguk's mixes. One he had doodled stars and octopi on the shiny cover of the disc. 

"Cool mix," Jimin's watery voice comes from his right, "If I had a phone I'd add it to my Spotify."

 

**Author's Note:**

> \--and im so sorry, i think your sister might be having my second son.
> 
> lol i dont know how to end chapters!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> exo stans dont worry, you wont hate me 5ever.


End file.
